Want Don't Want
by Corvidae2392
Summary: A series of short and sexy chapter-ettes, detailing the life and times of Jack and Tyler. Loosely based both on the book and the movie. Rated for smut, JackXTyler
1. Chapter 1

Tyler doesn't want me out of some misplaced sense of love or affection, though I like to think he finds me at least tolerable. Tyler doesn't want me because I'm devilishly handsome or beguilingly attractive, though he is both these things and more. Tyler doesn't want me because I want him to want me, or because I want him more than I care to admit…

Tyler wants me simply because he can have me. In our twisted little world where we wallow together, he is the predator and I am the prey. Our chase runs all through the dead (or dying) house on Paper Street; up and down creaking stairs, into rooms with naked light bulbs and flaking plaster, down to the blind basement where intentions are blurred by the blackness.

As much as I try to keep my secrets secret, as much as I try to be the calm little center of our world, I am a dead giveaway. Tyler knows this because I know this and he uses it to his advantage. A half-lidded stare over breakfast, a more-than-friendly pat on the behind as we pass in the warped halls, a wink over the kitchen table where we stand making soap in the evening.

The worst part is that all these things Tyler does, they don't have to be taken that way. But I do, and he knows I will. It's all a ploy to get me to drop my guard, to say "yes" when I want to say no ( even though I secretly mean yes). And the worst part is that I can never get around it. Tyler lets me think that I won, so that I can march up to my bedroom feeling like I finally have the upper hand, but the longer I lay awake on my filthy mattress under the broken rafters, the more I begin to understand that I didn't win, I don't have the upper hand and I never did. And because of that, Tyler gets to do my sleeping for the both of us. **FIN**


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sitting in the ratty recliner in the front room of the house on Paper Street, engrossed in a Readers' Digest from the seventies. I don't hear him when he comes in or when he sits down in the opposite chair facing me. I don't hear him cross his legs or light a cigarette. But I feel it when his eyes settle on me, patient and all-seeing.

At first, I'm annoyed. This is what he does. He irritates to get my attention.

What the fuck Tyler.

Bam. Attention given.

Then we have casual conversation, or exasperating banter, or a cryptic argument until one of us gives up, (usually me). Then he stalks me through the house until I am Jack's last nerve, until I am Jack's throbbing temple, until I'm so flustered I don't know what to do with myself.

Then he stonewalls me and goes to sleep.

Realizing that this process is about to start, I don't look up at him.

I go on reading my book. I finish, the page, turn, and keep reading.

Tyler sits there, finishing his cigarette, burning loose threads off his holy jeans with his lighter. With one last drag, Tyler tosses his cigarette butt on the floor and grinds it out with the toe of his boot. Standing, he stretches so that his wrinkled white wife-beater pulls up to reveal his flat, hard abs, sprinkled with sable hair.

I can't help but look now. Tyler knows this and he's giving me a show, flashing me his abs and craning his neck so I can see his sculpted chest and shoulders.

Suddenly, I am Jack's chagrin.

I quickly avert my eyes before Tyler can notice I'm watching him. I try to go back to my book but I'm not reading anymore, just staring blankly at the page so I can monitor my peripheral vision for any signs of movement. I realize what's going on here. Tyler walked in the room and knew immediately I was in no mood, so he bypassed the whole thing, and gave me a dose of my own medicine. He's going right for the jugular.

"Hey," Tyler says.

I look up, without even _thinking_, I look up. After all the determination it took for me to ignore me, all it takes is a simple _hey_.

Tyler peels his shirt off in one fluid movement and tosses it to the floor, looking at me with the most smoldering, seductive, reduce-me-to-a-puddle-on-the-floor stare he can muster.

"Wanna fight?" he asks.

If I say yes, I might as well lay down on the floor right now and let him pummel me. Saying yes right now is as good as giving him permission to beat the living shit out of me. If I say no, I'm a coward, I'm a pussy, I'm not letting go, I'm not being a calm little Hindu cow, the center of our calm little world.

So what do I say?

I feel like an idiot, sitting there curled up the threadbare recliner with my retro book, with Tyler's words hanging in the air like cobwebs.

What do I say?

As the seconds get longer and time draws out, I'm not even sure if he actually said anything. Is he even really here? I close my eyes and shake my head a little, wondering if I'm just seeing things. Nope. He's still there, a veritable Adonis, standing in a dingy beam of sunlight among the swirling dust motes, giving me his best come-hither gaze.

Finally, with a disapproving click of his tongue, he turns to leave, picking his wrinkled shirt up off the floor.

"Whatever, man," he rasps before disappearing around the corner.

Wait.

What?

What the fuck just happened?

Did I say something? I didn't, did I?

Did he say something and I missed it?

What the fuck!

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Now I'm in fucking trouble. Now I'm really fucking in trouble.

I just had to be the tough guy. Well I guess I really showed him how tough I am. Tough enough to totally fucking fuck it all up. Fuck!

While I am busy being Jack's anxiety, Tyler is creeping up behind my chair. Slowly, so as not to surprise me, he slides his arms over my shoulders from behind and rests his hands on my chest. His head is level with my ear and turns and traces the tip of his tongue along the outside curve of my ear.

All thought ceases in my head.

Go into your cave.

I'm in my cave, and its collapsing shut, and I'm stuck inside with Tyler.

"Hey," he whispers and his breath is warm and damp against my neck.

"You don't _have_ to fight me." **FIN**


	3. Chapter 3

**_*WARNING: SMUT AHEAD* _**

**_If guy on guy slash is not your thing, turn back now. _**

**This scene ended up being a lot more soft-core than I originally intended, but it's still steamy ;) Read and review, tyvm!**

I am Jack's unbridled sense of panic. I try to stand but Tyler clenches his arms and I'm trapped.

"Where you going, Ikea Boy?" he murmurs, and deep in the pit of my ribcage, something starts to stir.

Tyler flattens his palms against my chest and then curls the tips of his fingers in, squeezing the tense muscles of my pectorals. Inside my head, a steady chorus of screams is mounting, all shouting the same thing: NO!

But every single nerve ending is begging for his touch. Every inch of my skin feels like its burning up waiting for him to touch it. I am Jack's frayed vocal chords, screaming YES!

Involuntarily, my neck relaxes and my head falls against his shoulder, exposing my neck and collarbone to his mouth. Tyler seizes the opportunity and places a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss in the hollow of my shoulder. He swirls his tongue around a tender bruise, and I have to suck my bottom lip into my mouth to keep from groaning with pent up pleasure.

With a satisfying _pop_, Tyler releases the chunk of my flesh he was sucking on and stands up.

I surface from a fog of lust and twist my head around to look at him. Tyler's backing slowly away through the door, curling one finger at me. _Come hither_.

I stand up too fast and swoon, realizing that all my blood has rushed to my throbbing groin. What the fuck is going on right now? How is this even happening?

But before I can decide whether I want to follow him or not, I already am. It's as if there's a cord attached to Tyler's finger and every time he bends it in, he drags me closer. Through the parlor, across the creaking foyer, up the warped staircase we go.

When we reach the bedroom, Tyler kicks the door shut and presses up against me from behind. He slides his hands around my waist, up under my shirt and slips his fingers under the waist band of my boxer shorts. His mouth is at my neck again, sucking and kissing and gnashing his teeth against my skin.

Again, my head relaxes back against his shoulder. My breath is coming in short, labored bursts, hissing through my clenched teeth. When Tyler's fingers come in contact with the pulsing head of my dick, my knees buckle and I nearly fall.

"Easy, kid," Tyler mutters, flexing his triceps under my arms to support me.

He wraps his hot fingers around my shaft, but doesn't move otherwise. His dexterous mouth is lapping a slick halo from one shoulder and around the back of my neck, ending with a nip to my left earlobe. With that, Tyler squeezes my dick and starts pumping his hand up and down, swiping his thumb across the head.

Again, my knees are knocking together with the intensity of this pleasure. I reach down and take a fistful of Tyler's jeans in each hand, squeezing tightly. I'm biting my lip so hard in an effort to keep myself from moaning like a little bitch that suddenly, I taste blood. I release my lip with a _smack_ and at the same time, Tyler reaches his free hand deeper into my boxers and starts fondling my balls.

This is too much, and my eyes roll back in my head. Before I can stop myself, I'm moaning and grunting like a pig in labor, grinding my ass up against Tyler's crotch.

Tyler starts shuffling us forward, moving toward the worn mattress on the floor. When we're near enough, he releases me from his sexy choke-hold and pushes me roughly onto the bed. I sit there among the clouds of dust that have risen from the mattress, watching slack-jawed as Tyler unfastens his belt, pops open the button of his jeans and drags the zipper down. He's not wearing anything underneath and somehow, this doesn't surprise me.

What does surprise me is how goddamn big he is. Standing there before me with his perfectly disheveled blond hair, his sculpted abs, giving me one of his seductive, half-lidded stares, the one thing I keep looking at is his dick. Big and veiny and just as impossibly tan and muscular as the rest of him, I suddenly feel incredibly intimidated and even a little scared.

Tyler seems to realize this and as he kneels down and straddles me, going to work at removing my pants, he says "Don't worry, just relax…"

I am Jack's complete and utter doubt. I find myself trembling slightly, though from anticipation or fear I can't tell. Tyler pushes my shirt up to reveal my pale stomach, a sad comparison to his golden washboard. With his thumb and index finger, he tweaks my nipple and I bite my lip. Running his hand softly down the length of my torso, Tyler bows his head toward my crotch and without warning, takes only the head of my dick into his mouth and sucks gently on it.

I'm watching him, propped up on my elbows but my head falls slack between my shoulder blades and I let out a whining, breathless moan. I feel Tyler chuckle and the vibration in my member nearly sends me over the edge.

A little voice in my head has been clamoring for my attention and now that I don't have to hold Tyler's gaze, I can finally listen to it.

_What the actual fuck is going on here?_

_ Is Tyler Durden really giving you head right now? Shouldn't we be doing something about this? Shouldn't we be giving him a nice right hook to the jaw?_

I let the voice ramble on, ignoring it like someone committing a sin ignores their little shoulder angel in old cartoons.

Tyler takes my dick deeper into his mouth and when I feel the tip hit the back of his throat, my eyes roll back and I gasp. Tyler smiles as he comes up for air. He looks at me.

"Feel good?" he says in a soft, grating voice.

"Yeah," I rasp.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks.

I'm confused by this. Tyler asking my permission? Tyler caring about my feelings? If I said yes, would he kindly zip up and leave me alone?

"What?" I say back in utter surprise.

"You like this, right? You want me to keep going?" He says, still patient.

I blink stupidly a few times. Do I want him to keep going?

Well, no. No, I don't because I'm not gay, and I sleep with girls, and this is totally wrong in every sense of the word, and I shouldn't be enjoying it as much as I am. I shouldn't be enjoying it at all.

But isn't that the exact opposite of what Tyler's been trying to teach me? Tyler's always says to let go. To feel what you want to feel, to do what you want to do. And as much as it embarrasses me to say so, what I want to feel is the back of Tyler's throat again.

"Yes," I reply at last. "Keep going."

Tyler wastes no time and wraps his hand around my cock, slobbers adorably all over it, and starts pumping away. The closer I get to climax, closer and closer every second, the more free I feel. The closer I get to orgasm, the less I care who's doing it and what anyone else would think. If it feels good, do it.

Within a few minutes, my whole body tightens, and then releases in one glorious outflow. Breathless and feeling like a piece of cooked spaghetti, I close my eyes. Tyler flops down next to me.

In my ear he whispers, "See? We don't always have to fight…"


End file.
